Thursday, April 24, 2008

Yes, 25 years ago today, I gave birth to my first child , a son, by C-section. AKA the *the son*, of whom you've seldom heard me speak. He doesn't like for me to talk about him. So, he's getting a big dose for his birthday, with all my love.

The hubby and I had been married for 6 years and I'd had a total of 3 miscarriages and 3 DNC's. We were beginning to think that we might not have children. I decided I could live with that and went about my merry way in life. As soon as I quit worrying about it... BAM! Preggers again. Now, I've always been of the belief that when you're pregnant you should take care of yourself, but still go on with life as normal. If you miscarry, then it must be God's Plan. Finally, I'd reached 4 months with no problems, aside from throwing my guts up every morning and basically being nauseous on a 24 hour basis.

Since I'm an Rh negative blood type, they had hubby come in for a blood test (which he hates because it makes him faint). What my OB discovered was: The hubby has the only blood type that is compatible with Rh negative. Which means all those gamma globulin shots I had after the miscarriages weren't necessary. Which means we truly were meant for each other. Which means I was right all along. Who knew?

At 5 months, I started feeling the kicks and I started falling in love with whoever the little drummer was inside my ever-expanding belly. Everyone agreed it was going to be a boy by one old wive's tale trick or another. The housekeeper always told me it was going to be a boy with a lot of hair because A.) I had a brown stripe running down from my belly button, and B.) I had terrible heartburn the last 4 months. I could get heartburn from water, but she said it was from all the hair. After he was born she said "Uh-huh".

Things went along fine until the last trimester when they confined me to bed for the duration of the pregnancy, because my body was threatening toxemia. The Doc said he could let me handle the diet at home, or he'd be glad to put me in the hospital for the duration, in one of those adorable little derriere exposing hospital gowns. So, I chose to be a good girl, for once. I could get up to go to the bathroom and that was essentially it. The hubby had to come home every day to fix my lunch, which he did without complaint (although he worked for a company then & I know it was a major pain in the ass). I was also put on a restrictive diet of bland food and no salt, which was simple enough for him to follow & prepare.

Gawd, I felt like Cleopatra with everyone waiting on me. I had the maid one day a week, hubby's mother & grandmothers, and various friends who pitched in as well. I was the center of attention and I loved every freaking minute of it. I was pregnant with the first grandchild in hubby's family and that suddenly made me a very important person indeed.

When my due date rolled around, I felt more like a beached whale than Cleopatra and I was ready for the little bugger to come out & meet the family. When my labor finally began, I called my doctor to tell him and he said there was no way I could be in labor. I asked why and he said if I were in labor I wouldn't be able to talk. WTF? I told him I was in labor and he said to just wait. This was like 10:00 pm. By 2:00 am I couldn't stand it any longer and made the hubby take me to the hospital. When I was finally admitted to pre-birth room, they hooked me up to machines and discovered that I was, indeed, in full blown labor, but my water still had not broken & I wasn't dilating. Hmm...

Fourteen hours later I was in such piercing pain that I told my husband to either get the doctor in there or I was going home, digging a hole in the backyard, and having the baby the way my ancestors did. NOW! I guess I should tell you that my great-grandmother was 1/2 Cherokee Indian and gave birth to 13 children. Which means I'm from sturdy stock, right? Wrong. Luckily, the doctor came & I didn't have to carry through with my threat. However, I was a total bitchy bitch by this point.

That is, until they gave me sodium pentathol. Night Night! The next thing I knew, I awakened in recovery in gawd awful pain, still drifting in & out of consciousness, talking to people who weren't there, or even alive. When I was sufficiently out of my stupor, I was wheeled back to my room. The doctor later told me that when he made the incision in my stomach, it was like being @ Yellowstone Park, standing under The Old Geyser. My water finally broke in the form of a spraying fountain. Lovely. I'm sure they all remember me fondly.

Back in 1983 our hospital had a very small maternity ward and c-sections were supposed to get the private rooms, but there weren't enough, so I had to be in a semi-private. That was a problem. You see, after a c-section, you only get liquids until you pass a ton of gas & finally have a movement. It's really painful, not to mention difficult to do when strangers are on the other side of the curtain. I mean I really needed to let go of some seriously big bombs, but I couldn't do it. How could I let gargantuan farts rip when complete strangers were in the room all the time? Well, I just couldn't do it. I still had nothing but liquids for 2 days until I got a private room. Once I was alone, everything improved and I was finally allowed a meal. I was in Heaven, even though it was hospital food.

My precious baby boy weighed in @ 9.6 lbs. and was beautiful & healthy. I'd gone through hell to have him, but once I looked into his eyes, I knew it was all worth it. Until he turned two, at which point I would have given anything to put him back in the womb. Unfortunately, by that point, I'd just given birth to his baby sister, by another Caesarean. I knew by then that I didn't really want 6 six children after all, especially if it was going to be by the knife every time. Screw that.

He was truly one of the funniest babies ever. One day, I heard him making all kinds of laughing & gurgling & cooing sounds so I went into the nursery and this is what I found:

He took 3 hour naps from the day we brought him home from the hospital and was a total joy as a baby. Then, he turned 3. He never had the terrible two's. He had the terrible 3's. At which point, I really wanted to shove him back into my womb. Then later, the terrible 13's. He was always a challenge, I must say. He was diagnosed with ADHD in 6th grade, but we all honestly feel now, that they were full of it. He's fine today & hasn't taken ADD medications for years. I won't get started on that. Not now.

He was always a good student, just a bit on the wild side. So, the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. He played basketball and football and stayed involved & connected with those. Unfortunately, after the Grandparents died, his grades started to slip. It continued to get worse no matter what I did. I had teacher conferences, met with the counselor, got him a math tutor. Nothing was working. We finally ended up sending him to military school, which nearly broke us financially, but he said he could make it work. It didn't work and he was back at home by the start of the following school year. We didn't understand what was going on with him any more than he did, I suppose. We had tried everything and nothing had worked and we were clueless.

We went through some very dark times with him, but now that is ancient history and I will leave it at that.

He has always been a devoted big brother. He used to tell all the boys in Jr. High and then in high school that he would beat the crap of them if they ever touched his sister, or *went out with her* (their term for going steady). The daughter always found that rather distressing, but she adores him too, so she dealt with it.

Anyway, our son has always had a very mischievous sense of humor and a heart of pure gold. He's made a few mistakes here & there, a few bad decisions here & there, but thankfully grew up in time to pull himself out of the nose dive he was in. He has shown inner courage and strength and character and has emerged relatively unscathed. Very few people who have been where he's been are able to live and tell about it. I just thank God for watching over him and bringing him back from the edge of darkness. He is truly turning out to be the man I always knew he would be, and for that, I am also thankful.

So, Happy 25th Birthday Baby Boy! I love you more than you will ever know. You are the light of my life.

19 comments:

Happy Birthday Son Unit! I put my Mom through hell too when I was younger - the great thing about Mom's though, they still love ya to pieces no matter what. And you've got a great one! Again - Happy Birthday!

Thanks everyone. We had wanted to go to Austin & see him for his birthday, but we have The Big Wedding to attend in two days. So, we're going down next weekend. I can hardly wait! Hopefully, he'll get to come with us and play some golf, since he can't really afford it on his own.

This is funny.... I just talked to the birthday boy a little while ago and told him that I'd written about him in the blog and that all these people had wished him a Happy Birthday. There was silence at the other end, then he said "Why would they do that?" I can see that he needs to be *schooled* on life in the blogosphere. I can barely get him to answer an e-mail, really.

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Growing older takes a seriously sick sense of humor, not to mention emotional & physical stamina.... it isn't for the weak minded or faint of heart, I assure you.

I will try to guide you through the aging process with a little humor, tales from the past entwined with stories of today, tips you'll need to keep from looking & acting like an old hag, and the music you'll need to listen to in order to stay "young at heart". Or at least put up a good appearance.